


Rites of Passage

by Thymesis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Dark, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Master/Apprentice Relationships, POV Multiple, Power Imbalance, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: Five nights, five Jedi Masters, and one secretive rite of passage for five Jedi apprentices.





	Rites of Passage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Secret Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060526) by [ambiguously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously). 



> This story draws heavily upon ideas from the amazing, absolute must-read “[Secret Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060526)” and comments from its author about the Jedi Order as a dysfunctional institution. [To wit](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/164026173): “The entire point of the ritualized master/apprentice sexual initiation for me is how fucked up it is and how fucked up it says the rest of the institution is.” So…yeah. If you’re not in the mood for some exploration of some troubling themes, you might as well back-button now and save yourself the ~~trauma~~ trouble. ;-)
> 
> I’ve also repurposed a bit in the beginning of “Rites of Passage” from my (much lighter, played for laughs) story, “[Practicum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434945).”

_I. Dooku and Qui-Gon_

“Completion of the Practicum is an important rite of passage and a necessary part of a well-rounded general education, Padawan.”

“B-but I-I’m not certain I want to, Master.” Qui-Gon looked down at the backs of his hands, hands which were clutching his knees in two white-knuckled death grips. His fingernails dug reflexively into his own flesh, almost hard enough to break the bare, exposed skin. Although he was properly seated with his legs folded underneath him, he knew that tiny hitch to his speech had betrayed his nervousness in a manner that even his gross body language would not. His refusal to look Dooku in the eye could not now be mistaken for an apprentice’s customary humility.

Jedi younglings and apprentices faced countless mandatory Practicums during the course of their training, of course, ranging widely in subjects from public oral disputation to emergency first aid. But the one on interpersonal sexual relations, to be completed shortly after reaching reproductive maturity, was known in Temple parlance as _the_ Practicum. Most Padawan learners regarded the night spent in the intimate company of one’s Master with tremendous excitement and anticipation.

Most Padawan learners, that is. Qui-Gon Jinn had never been particularly interested in sex. It was neither desirable nor disgusting to him; it just didn’t seem… _necessary_. Sometimes, Qui-Gon wished he could simply leave the crude matter of his body behind and join the luminous energies of the Living Force outright.

“Your refusal will not be accepted,” Dooku said sternly.

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon replied. He already understood Dooku’s point of view, and they were in Dooku’s private tower chamber, well past nightfall, and most of the other Jedi in residence at the Temple were already sound asleep, so there was no one else to whom Qui-Gon might appeal for an alternative second opinion.

And to be honest, he didn’t think he’d find much sympathy for his position among either other Masters or other Padawan learners anyway. The former supported this practice, and as for the latter, well…the latter _believed_ they wanted it.

Even if there were aspects to the experience widely acknowledged to be embarrassing, unpleasant, or downright painful. That, it was said, was just a natural part of the learning process.

“Excellent.” Dooku opened the front of his robes and exposed himself. His erection loomed, practically purple and obscenely large, directly in front of Qui-Gon’s face. The tip brushed against his chin and then his bottom lip, smearing both with sticky warmth.

“Begin, Padawan.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, blanked his thoughts, and opened his mouth wide.

His spirit remained empty. Blissfully. Empty.

 

_II. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan_

They’d bathed each other beforehand, and the gentle, purposeful scrubbing of sponge against skin had been much like meditation.

Now, though, Obi-Wan Kenobi was trying—and, he knew, failing—to conceal his impatience while Qui-Gon’s big but deft fingers rewove the long lock of damp hair that started behind Obi-Wan’s right ear into its customary Padawan braid. Even the lightest, most inadvertent touches to his earlobe and his neck sent shivery waves of electricity shooting straight to his groin. He was already hard, and they hadn’t even begun yet! The warmth radiating off of Qui-Gon’s chest was palpable against Obi-Wan’s back— Oh Gods, how was he going to be able to control himself when they were actually laid out together, body to body, skin to skin—

“All done,” Qui-Gon said, jolting Obi-Wan out of his desperation-fueled reverie. The braid flopped down onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Qui-Gon rose to his feet and headed in the direction of the bedroom. He didn’t bother looking behind him; he knew Obi-Wan would follow.

Qui-Gon stretched himself out flat onto the expansive sleeping pallet that had been prepared for them. His skin was still slightly rosy from the bath and sweet-smelling from the soap they’d used. His long, silvery-brown hair looked almost black when weighed down like this by excess water. His cock was small, soft, and quiescent in its tangled nest of hair, strangely out of proportion when contrasted with his overall size.

“What would you like to do first?” Qui-Gon asked. He was utterly calm.

Obi-Wan swallowed reflexively. What would he like to do first…? Gods, what a question! And here he was, struggling not to orgasm spontaneously—

Qui-Gon seemed able to read his thoughts in the semi-darkness of the chamber like a backlit datapad screen. “Perhaps we should relieve some of this excess tension of yours first. Afterwards, you should be able to focus more fully on the experience.” He patted the empty space on the pallet beside him. “Sit down, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan obeyed his Master automatically and without question. It was a habit cultivated over the years, strengthened by bonds of trust in the face of adversity out in the field. But no number of interplanetary diplomatic disputes successfully resolved, however large, could prepare him for Qui-Gon’s grasp, strong and sure, on his erection.

It took less than five seconds. Obi-Wan doubled over, curling into that razor-sharp pleasure as if he might be able to hold onto it longer as he spilled himself into Qui-Gon’s cupped palm.

“Very good,” Qui-Gon said.

He was correct, of course—that _had_ helped ease the worst of the immediate tension, and Obi-Wan, with the vigor of his youth, wasn’t about to lose his erection after only one orgasm.

“Well then. What would you like to try next?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I-I…” Obi-Wan blushed crimson. He was suddenly—and most uncharacteristically—at a loss for words. Truth be told, he wanted…he wanted… _he wanted_ …

“Ah, of course. You wish to attempt intercourse,” Qui-Gon said, matter of fact. He might as well have been remarking on the weather.

“But…but, _Master_ …” Obi-Wan began, protesting. He knew Qui-Gon would fit inside of his body, he’d understood that in theory perfectly well, but Qui-Gon wasn’t even hard yet—

“This should be sufficient lubrication for me,” Qui-Gon said, seemingly unaware, or perhaps _ignoring_ , Obi-Wan’s ambivalence. He spread his legs wide, bent his knees, and canted his hips upwards. Then he began applying Obi-Wan’s semen to his anus. “There’s lubricant in that dish over there,” he continued as he worked himself open. “Feel free to use as much or as little as you like.”

Wait, had Qui-Gon known how many hundreds of times he’d _dreamed_ of—?!

His heart in his throat (and most of his blood supply in his penis), Obi-Wan obeyed his Master once more, covering himself in oily lubricant and assuming what he hoped was the correct position between Qui-Gon’s legs.

Insertion wasn’t easy. Qui-Gon was so tight that it was almost painful for Obi-Wan. It _had_ to have been painful for Qui-Gon as well, but Qui-Gon gave not the slightest sign. His expression was mild, his breathing slow and deep, as Obi-Wan pushed into Qui-Gon until he was buried all the way to the hilt.

“M-Master…?” Obi-Wan trembled, struggling to maintain his control, wobbling, teetering on the precipice of ecstasy, and so overwhelmed by abject yearning he could almost die of it.

“You can move whenever you like, Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon was not aroused—his penis remained small and quiescent—but as Obi-Wan began to thrust with long, hard, fast strokes that made stars go nova, white-out bright, in his mind, he no longer cared. He pressed his face into the crook between Qui-Gon’s neck and shoulder and savored the fluttering pulse against his sensitive lips. Aaahhh, he was inside his Master, inside the being he loved most in all the galaxy, and it was so hot, yes, so delicious, and he was…he was…he was…oh, _oh Gods_ …!

 

_III. Obi-Wan and Anakin_

“So, uhh, did you and Qui-Gon…?”

“ _Anakin_.” Obi-Wan’s tone of voice dripped with disapproval, and it was a tone which, over their years together as Master and Padawan learner, Anakin Skywalker had come to recognize all too well. “You know better than to ask about another Jedi’s Practicum.”

“But—”

“No buts. The Practicum is a private matter—and so it shall be between you and me also, should you choose to avail yourself of the opportunity. I remind you that you can change your mind at any time.”

Anakin frowned and shook his head vehemently. If the Practicum was something everybody did, even if it _was_ technically “optional,” then goddammit Anakin was gonna do it and do it and do it! Yep, he’d have the best Practicum ever! And Obi-Wan would _never_ forget how great Anakin was in the sack.

“Okay.” Anakin decided to let the matter drop and not to pursue questions about Obi-Wan’s past any further. Besides, dearly departed Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was a touchy subject at the best of times, and he didn’t want Obi-Wan to be thinking about his former Master anyway.

Truth be told, Anakin wanted Obi-Wan to be thinking about him…and _only_ him.

“Okay.” Obi-Wan echoed Anakin’s agreement. All was forgiven—and so easily!—because he knew Anakin did not mean to hurt his feelings. “What would you like to do first?” he asked gently and placed both of his hands on Anakin’s shoulders.

Ah yes, Obi-Wan was playing his kindly, supportive, patient teacher role. The feigned aura of compassionate detachment was nearly perfect, except…

Anakin favored Obi-Wan with a lopsided, wolfish grin and looked pointedly down at Obi-Wan’s groin. He was already visibly hard beneath his robes, which Anakin found immensely gratifying—awfully nice to feel desirable, doncha know?—but it wasn’t like Anakin could claim moral superiority or superior spiritual detachment since he was visibly hard beneath his robes too. “How about everything?” he suggested.

Then, before Obi-Wan could respond, Anakin launched himself forward and into Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan caught him in an automatic embrace and even managed an adorable, muffled squeak of performative outrage before his mouth was otherwise occupied with many, many, _many_ enthusiastic kisses.

Which he reciprocated with equal enthusiasm. So much for detachment. Obi-Wan was anything _but_ detached.

No negotiation of their encounter was necessary after that. Each knew exactly what the other wanted without having to ask. Once they got going, in fact, they didn’t need to talk at all, and there really wasn’t much, strictly speaking, that Obi-Wan needed to teach. Anakin was a natural at lovemaking, as he was with most things requiring physical exertion, and he was generous, curious, and open to new experiences. They met each other halfway, perfect in their union, one completing the other’s actions. Their bond was strong like that. It was a bit like sparring, only less adversarial.

A lot less adversarial. Their orgasms were too many to count.

Before the Practicum night was over, however, Anakin did learn something important that Obi-Wan had never set out to teach: As they rocked together, Anakin on top and impaled on Obi-Wan’s cock, joined both in body and in mind, tangled up in exquisite pleasure, Anakin brushed the sweat-damp locks of hair back from Obi-Wan’s forehead, gazed down into Obi-Wan’s wide, dark eyes, and realized that Obi-Wan loved him.

He.

_Loved!_

Him.

Unreservedly, desperately, relentlessly. Even though everything Obi-Wan had ever striven to teach Anakin had warned of the dangers of attachment. He didn’t think he should love him—not like this, at any rate—but he couldn’t help himself.

They came again, simultaneously. Their passion in that moment was total, all-consuming, complete. They were deeper into each other than they had ever been; they were lost in each other, lost together.

 

_IV. Obi-Wan and Luke_

The cloying stench of burnt flesh filled his nostrils; the pitiful, charred skeletons of his aunt and uncle filled his vision. When he reached out to try to touch them, to pick them up and lay them to rest, they crumbled to dust and blew away on the hot, desert wind.

He screamed and screamed and screamed, endlessly.

“Luke. _Luke_. Wake up. It was only a nightmare.”

Ben. It was Ben Kenobi. And they weren’t on Tatooine. They were on the Millennium Falcon, en route to Alderaan at the behest of a beautiful princess.

Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were still dead, though, murdered by the Empire, and if he ever dared return to the farm, he was liable to join them in the afterlife.

Luke Skywalker began to cry.

“Hush, hush, it’s all right,” Ben said, taking Luke into his arms and stroking his hair. “The pain of grief will pass, as all things do, in time.”

Luke welcomed the embrace and buried his face in the folds of Ben’s roughspun robes. The smells of the desert, of the sand and the suns, lingered in their fabric—Ben smelled like home. Home. _Home_. He was never going to be able to go home again. Luke felt another harsh sob building in his chest, sharp as a vibroknife, threatening to burst free. _No, don’t think. Focus on something else_. Hmm. Ben smelled of himself, too, Luke realized. His skin was fragrant and clean, a hint of musk and spice, _male_ —

“What are you doing?”

Luke flinched and pulled back guiltily, the beginnings of a blush coloring his already tearstained cheeks. He’d been pressing wet, sloppy kisses behind Ben’s ear, onto his neck, along the line of his jawbone…

“Luke?” Ben said his name so gently, so utterly without judgment. He understood this need. It made any anxiety Luke was feeling about their strange situation just melt away.

“They used to tell stories about you, you know. Well. Not about _you_ in particular,” Luke hastened to clarify, rubbing his tears away furiously with the palm of one hand, “but about the Jedi. About teachers and their apprentices…about how sometimes they would…they would…” Luke stuttered to a stop, at a loss for words in suitably polite language.

“How they would what?” Ben asked. The expression on his face was benign, perhaps mildly inquisitive. Dammit, he wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?!

“How…how…how they wouldbeintimatewitheachother,” Luke said in a rush. “Is…is that _true_?”

Ben’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re grieving.” It was a statement, not a question.

Luke felt his eyes filling anew with tears. He wouldn’t cry again— _he wouldn’t!_ “Yes, but… I want… I need… _I need_ …”

Home. Familiarity. Safety. Love. He needed to feel that again…if only for a little while.

Ben regarded him speculatively, like he could hear Luke’s thoughts. Maybe he really could. “All right,” he said at last. “Just for tonight.”

***

Ben’s body was wonderfully solid against his own, a comforting weight pressing him down into the narrow sleeping berth. And he was warm—so very, very warm! Luke hadn’t realized how godawful _cold_ space travel would be. He was a skilled lover as well, responsive yet sure: He seemed to know exactly what Luke liked, and he brought Luke to orgasm once, sweet, full-bodied, and shaking, and then again for a second time, equally intense.

“You did this with my father, didn’t you?” Luke panted between aftershocks.

Now it was Ben’s turn to flinch and attempt to pull back, but Luke was ready for precisely that reaction; he held on tightly to Ben with all four limbs wrapped around his torso.

“You did.” Luke could see the truth in Ben’s eyes. “Show me!” he demanded, emboldened by the revelation. He reached down and grasped Ben’s cock. It jerked and swelled in his grasp, and Ben’s pupils seemed to dilate. For all that he had given Luke, Ben hadn’t yet taken his pleasure. They’d have to fix that. “Yes, _yes_ , that’s right. Teach me what you taught him.”

Their one night together ended as it began—in tears. But they were not tears of sorrow.

They were tears of joy.

 

_V. Luke and Ben_

“Completion of the Practicum isn’t—”

“I _want_ to, Master,” Ben interrupted. He’d read the fragmentary texts that had been salvaged from the Temple. He knew what Masters had once done with their Padawan learners and why—and would do again, if Ben Solo had his way.

“But Ben, we’re…” Related, Luke didn’t say. The unspoken word hung in the air between them, deafening as a gundark’s roar.

“But. I. Want. To.” Ben repeated, enunciating each syllable like he was speaking to a youngling or an idiot. “Master,” he added as an afterthought.

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He’d been doing that a lot lately, now that Ben’s awkward boyhood had transformed itself into captivating adolescence, but Ben knew what it presaged: Luke giving in and giving him exactly what he wanted.

Luke had been alone for so long—the loneliness of his solitary, monastic life was a palpable weight on his soul. Well, he didn’t have to be alone any longer. Because these days, he had Ben by his side.

No man was meant to be an island forever.

Ben stroked his uncle’s beautiful, beloved face, brushing the stray tears away, craned his neck forward, and kissed him. After a second’s hesitation, Luke’s mouth opened in welcome. He tasted of the many sweet secrets Ben was soon to learn.

“I love you,” Ben said when they paused briefly to come up for air. His love for Luke was _everything_.

“I know,” Luke replied softly, and for once, to Ben’s amazement, he didn’t admonish Ben for being too attached to him.

Maybe things would be different this time. Maybe they would learn from the old Order’s mistakes. And even so, maybe they could still be a part of something greater than just themselves, a part of a grand and noble tradition that was worth sustaining. Their night of passion would rehabilitate, reinvigorate, reestablish it for the generations of Jedi yet to come. And it would, Ben was certain, be as much a rite of passage for Luke as it would be for him.

 

END


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